Iz Ded Moments
by windscryer
Summary: A response to Jenn1984's challenge on Psychfic to creatively whump Shawn. Let the pain begin . . . WARNING: There be potentially graphic violence ahead. Not for the squeamish of stomach or faint of heart.
1. Steak Out

Included in the 'Moments' Series with the permission (and insistence) of MusicalLuna.

Yes I'm making this a 'Moments'. My Muse saw the glove of challenge hit the ground and responded with an overly enthusiastic and frightening 'BRING IT ON!'

Then proceeded to pummel me with various ideas on how to injure Shawn (and possibly others along with him) using very odd and random things.

No idea how long this will last. Prolly a while.

Disclaimer:

If I owned Psych we'd see a lot more of this on the show.

Since we don't you can make the obvious leap of logic that applies.

At least I hope you can.

Also, all the technical names and descriptions were snurched from the Williams-Sonoma website. If you need a visual of what is being talked about go there and type it in exactly as I have it.

Though I take no responsibility for any disturbing mental images this conjures for you. That's your own darn fault.

And for the record: I blame you, Jenn. ;D

* * *

"Gus? Are you there? Over."

"_Yes, Shawn," _came the annoyed reply. _"I am still here. Just like I was here three minutes ago."_

"I'm just checking," Shawn defended himself as he twisted his head to peek around the edge of the dumpster he was hiding behind. "If a crazy psycho snuck up on you and dragged you away you'd appreciate my vigilance. Over."

"_Vigilance is not the word you want. That implies an extra amount of care and watchfulness. You just like using the walkie-talkies you bought. Which weren't in the budget for this month, by the way."_

Shawn opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off with, _"And stop saying 'over'."_

Shawn didn't want to give away his position—well, any more than he might by constantly talking over his radio. So instead of lifting his hand to gesture at his best friend who was behind the crates on the opposite side of the loading docks, he settled for sticking his tongue out at the small radio.

He didn't need to add anything verbally. Despite not being able to see it, Gus was no doubt fully aware of the action and rolling his eyes in response.

A good three minutes passed in silence—Shawn was timing it now that Gus had mentioned the number—and then he lifted his radio to taunt his partner.

He never got the chance.

The person who was managing the silence that Shawn was incapable of brought their arm down in a sharp strike, the deadly implement in their hand impacting the crown of his head with a crack that would have sounded painful—if Shawn had remained conscious long enough to hear it, that is.

Dropping the weapon to the ground, the assailant grabbed Shawn's legs and began dragging him across the pavement and to the side entrance that had been propped open.

Some psychic he was, the darkly-clothed figure mused. He hadn't even been expecting the attack.

Ah well. It would be his last mistake.

Within minutes there was no sign that the psychic had ever chosen this for a vantage point, except for the small, spiked tool that now lay on the ground.

o.o

Shawn came to under the harsh glare of a very bright spotlight. Having a headache from the blow to the head that had landed him here didn't make that any easier so he opted to keep his eyes closed for the moment. If his brain decided at some point that it wasn't going to continue the attempt to escape his skull angry-Hulk style then he'd reconsider.

For now he focused on his other senses.

He could hear someone moving around, but nothing that indicated very specifically what they were doing. Shifting boxes around maybe . . .

Suddenly footsteps approached and the light was blocked.

Shawn dared to squint and see if it was safe to try for more.

When he saw the face that was currently between him and the light he couldn't help his eyes opening wider.

Or blinking a few times.

"Mrs. Salazar?"

"You couldn't leave well enough alone, could you?" she hissed, the light haloing her fluffy, red hair.

Instead of angelic though, it leaned a little more towards demonic. Especially with the furious expression twisting her formerly pretty features.

When he'd first spotted her at the Home and Garden Show, he'd immediately classified her as a petite stay-at-home PTA President.

He'd been right, too.

She didn't have a job that took her out of the home. As the area Charming Coordinator for Cute Culinary Connections she provided admirably for her family without leaving her house—except for the occasional trade show.

She did the training sessions for the Cute Caterers as well as her own sales parties in her own adorably decorated living room and spotless, yet functional kitchen.

Her kids were also perfect little angels, helping her out and still maintaining perfect grades.

She was June Cleaver reincarnated.

And he'd never even suspected she might be involved in the shady dealings that had already resulted in the disappearance of one Cute Caterer.

While his thoughts had wandered she'd been doing something and he now realized that maybe he should be paying more attention.

When she grabbed his hands—which had been tied together with twine of some kind—and lifted them up he was concerned, but not overly alarmed yet.

Then her free hand brought what looked like a small blow torch into view, the blue flame already hissing.

"WHAT THE HECK IS THAT FOR?" he demanded and tried to pull away. He felt an edge and realized he was on a table or counter of some kind. Still, flame versus floor? No contest.

She jerked him back and managed to keep him from falling off, then brought the flame closer to his hands.

"It's a crème brûlée torch," she said as she continued to fight him for control of his hands.

"Crème brûlée?" he repeated stupidly.

"An irresistible restaurant treat," she explained, thankfully pausing in her attempts to bring the flame in excruciating contact with his fingers. "It hides a creamy custard under a crackly crust. Our set provides everything you need to make this luscious dessert at home. It includes four French Apilco porcelain ramekins; a professional culinary torch for quickly caramelizing the sugar on top, with adjustable, antiflare flame and safety lock. Butane fuel is not included. The torch also caramelizes sugar on fruit tarts and meringues and is handy for roasting bell peppers, melting cheese on onion soup and browning gratins. This set is an excellent gift for anyone who enjoys dessert making and entertaining."

Pure shock kept Shawn from interrupting her spiel, complete with perky grin and cheery voice.

She saw his expression and seemed to suddenly realize what was going on.

With a frown she adjusted her grip so his arm was pinned under hers and then resumed her insane ministrations.

Which was his next question.

"What are you doing?" he demanded as he fought her. She had a slight advantage leverage-wise, but he wasn't about to give up.

Although, he had to admit it a was a blow to his ego how badly he was doing. What had made her so very strong? She was _tiny _for heaven's sake.

"I'm trying to get rid of your fingertips. It'll delay identification for a little while, I hope. At least it does on Law and Order."

His jaw worked up and down in surprise as he considered the possibility that she was truly and completely insane.

Scratch that. Not a possibility, a certainty.

"What about my teeth? They'll still be able to ID me. And you're supposed to wait until AFTER I'm dead." He realized that he wasn't helping himself and shook his head. "Not that you'll get a chance to finish. I've got backup outside. They'll be in here any minute."

"I have an olive-wood lobster mallet and stainless steel crab picks for your teeth. Not the intended use by a long shot, but they'll do well enough for my purposes." She grinned again. "And we're having a sale so we have plenty in stock!" She snarled and jerked at his arm. "Stop twitching! If you hadn't poked your nose where it didn't belong I wouldn't be doing this at all. But before you go I'm going to make you regret your mistake. And it's already been ten minutes. Any backup you might have is not coming for you."

A good point, he decided. And as embarrassing as it was going to be to admit, he was going to need help.

So he did the only thing he could think of in a situation this desperate.

He screamed like a little girl.

o.o

When he hadn't heard from Shawn in a good fifteen minutes, Gus was more relived than alarmed.

It was entirely likely that he was sulking and Gus would have to pay for it later—in the form of Kool-aid in his shampoo probably—but at the moment it meant blessed silence and that was good enough for him.

Until of course the scream of terror shattered that into little tiny shards.

It worried him, in the back of his mind where it wouldn't impede the thoughts necessary to stay alive right now, that since starting this job with his best friend he'd gained the ability to identify Shawn's scream so easily.

He was up and running towards the building and Shawn's hiding spot, his finger already pressing the speed dial for Juliet on his cell phone.

He came to a stop next to the dumpster and stared at the empty ground where Shawn was supposed to be crouching.

As Juliet picked up and he began to explain the situation he noticed that something had been left behind.

Crouching down, he frowned at the item.

What did a reversible meat tenderizer have to do with a woman's disappearance three days ago and Shawn's disappearance now?

A bad feeling took root in Gus' stomach as he gazed at the little food prep device.

"Juliet?" Gus said, interrupting a question she was asking.

"_Yeah?"_

"Bring backup. And use the sirens."

On the other end of the phone, the junior detective paled.

"We're on our way," she promised.

"What is it?" Lassiter asked as he glanced over at his partner.

"Drive faster," was all she said, but the look on her face and the tone of her voice was enough.

The lights and sirens went on as the pedal hit the floor.

o.o

Gus wasn't keen on running into a room with an armed psychopath that was making Shawn scream in fear, but he was even less keen on waiting for the cavalry only to find that in the meantime Shawn had been killed in some horrible manner.

So he figured that he could be a useful distraction for a few minutes.

Hopefully it would be enough.

But he wasn't completely stupid.

A length of abandoned pipe by the dumpster now providing him with a semblance of protection, he edged towards the door and slowly inched it open.

There was nothing immediately visible besides a lot of boxes with an adorable, grinning, anime-style cat in a chef's hat and apron, wielding a skillet and rolling pin, adorning the sides.

There was a path between the boxes though, and somewhere further in was a light.

Gus resettled his grip on the pipe and made his way inside as stealthily as he knew how.

He could hear the low murmur of someone talking and a quiet hissing sound that made him frown.

It ended abruptly with a crash as something heavy hit the ground, taking several metal things with it.

He paused for a moment, then kept going, his heart rate and blood pressure rising with every step.

He never should have let Shawn talk him into this.

_Why_ had he let Shawn talk him into this?

Just because Shawn threatened to go alone . . .

He wouldn't next time, he lied to himself. Never again.

"You stupid idiot!" a vaguely familiar voice snapped, followed by a thump and a grunt of pain. "Why did you do that?"

The sounds of a struggle followed, then there was a moment of silence. A muffled sort of murmuring, almost like someone trying to talk with their mouth full, followed and then there was another thump and grunt.

"You've bent it! Now I can't use it _and_ I'm going to lose my Careful Caregiver award this month!"

A third thump and grunt sounded. Gus had a suspicion that it was a foot connecting with some ribs and/or abdomen and the expression of pain that naturally followed such an event.

He was almost there. Hopefully Juliet and Lassiter were, too.

Pausing at the last stack of boxes he looked around to get a feel for the area.

Unless he was mistaken, this was the kitchen area where they filmed their instructional videos for the tools and gadgets they sold to happy homemakers across the globe.

Shawn had been right about it being someone on the inside.

But who?

A frustrated sigh, and then the voice said, "Well, we'll just have to do this the messy way. But you've left me no choice."

He was about to find out.

Gripping the pipe, he lifted it batter-style and made his run, yelling at the top of his lungs as he rounded the boxes—and stopped cold.

Shawn was on the floor on the far side of the central island surrounded by several pots and pans, a panicked expression on his face, a dishcloth with little rubber duckies embroidered on it sticking out of his mouth, his hands bound with some sort of twine—oh and a petite red-headed woman straddling his waist, a very sharp chef's knife raised high over her head in a two-handed grip, poised to plunge it into Shawn's heart.

He wasn't sure which was more surprising, the fact that he'd been right about not waiting or the apron that the homemaker/killer wore that said 'Baked with Love' written in silk-screened steam rising from heart-shaped loaves of bread.

Both eyes had come around to him when he yelled and now all three of them sat frozen in expectation.

Shawn was the first to recover, taking the opportunity presented to twist his body and throw his would-be murderer off.

She hit the island's base and cracked her head, sending her to the ground in a loose-limbed slump, obviously dazed if the soft moan meant anything.

Scrambling to his knees and hands he crawled away as quickly as he could from her, pausing to remove the gag only when he was well out of her reach.

"Shawn?" Gus asked, lowering the pipe—but only slightly. "What the heck happened here?"

"She's insane!" Shawn said as he pushed to his feet. "First she tried to burn my fingertips off with a blow torch and then she was talking about using a lobster mallet and crab picks on my Colgate smile WHILE I'M STILL ALIVE-"

"WHAT?" Gus demanded, eying the still incoherent woman.

"I'm not kidding, She is NUTS. Grab one of those knives and cut me free, will you?"

Gus did as asked, but he only let go of the pipe with one hand and his eyes stayed mostly on Shawn's attacker.

"So she's the one that is behind the disappearance of Brenda Yarborough?"

"Oh yeah. I think that's a safe guess," Shawn said darkly as he massaged his wrists where the twine had cut into them.

"Why?" Gus asked.

"I didn't get that far," Shawn said dryly. "I was still working on the part where she was trying to _kill me_."

The sound of sirens drew the attention of both men towards the open back door and the parking lot.

"You called Jules and Lassie?" Shawn asked. "Sweet. We can wrap this case up tonight and go get something to eat. How does Outback sound?"

"Sounds delicious, especially if you're paying."

"Sure," Shawn said, feeling generous in his new lease on life. "I just solved a case. I'm good for it."

"I know you are. That and rent."

"Yeah, let's talk about that later, shall we?" Shawn said. "You want to go fetch the good detectives while I prepare for my big show?"

"You sure you're okay?" Gus asked. "I mean, she did take you down once. And you only have what? Eight inches and forty pounds on her?"

Shawn glared and snagged the pipe from Gus.

"She had the element of surprise. Her size makes her an ideal ninja. It's very easy to be quiet when you're tiny."

"Uh huh," Gus said in patent doubt. "Try not to get hurt any more while I'm gone?"

A last glare and Gus left to go show the cops the way in.

Shawn looked around for something that might hint at motive in the mean time.

A stack of papers on the counter looked promising and he circled around his downed attacker and made his way there.

Setting the pipe down, though still within easy reach, he gave Salazar one last look, then picked up the papers and began shuffling through them.

"Bingo," he said softly as he found the letter of complaint from one Brenda Yarborough, Cute Caterer, to one Cassandra Salazar, Charming Coordinator.

It seemed that money was going missing and Brenda believed Cassandra should investigate.

Shawn grimaced. Brenda had paid the price for her attention to detail.

The only mystery he hadn't solved was where Brenda was now, but he'd leave that to Lassie to wrestle out of her.

Speaking of which, he thought and started to turn—only to be blinded once again by a blow to the head.

This one didn't knock him out, though it did send him to the ground and make him whimper at the way it reawakened the previous headache.

He rolled over instinctively and just missed being brained by a marble rolling pin that cracked into the floor next to his head and sent ceramic chips from the tiles to pepper his skin.

"Cassandra, stop!" Shawn yelled, rolling over again as the marble bludgeon made another attempt at crushing his skull.

"I have to shut you up!" she hissed. "I can't have you telling them it was me. I'd lose my chance at the Congeniality Certificate this year and _I. Won't. Let. That. HAPPEN!"_ she screamed, punctuating each word with another swing at Shawn as he dodged and ducked, trying to regain his feet and/or the upper hand.

Neither of them heard the footsteps or saw the arrival of the armed police officers, led by one psychic assistant and two detectives, until Lassiter made his presence unmistakably known.

"FREEZE!"

Shawn did as ordered without even thinking about it, but Cassandra was so surprised that she spun around to see what was happening—and just managed a lucky glancing blow that caught Shawn at the temple and sent him back down and out for the count once again.

o.o

"Okay, was there some part of OW that you didn't understand?"

"Sorry, Shawn," the EMT said without an ounce of sincerity. He was far too used to dealing with the psychic to think anything of the constant whining and complaining. Everyone dealt with stress and shock in different ways and this was just Shawn's way.

"Yeah, you sound it," Shawn said with a glare.

"Shawn?"

He looked up from contemplating his shoes while stoically enduring the tender mercies—snort, yeah right—of the EMT and couldn't help a small smile at the sight of Juliet approaching.

"Jules! Come! Save me from this heartless son of a-OW!"

"This is gonna sting," the EMT said blandly—and belatedly—as he swabbed an alcohol pad over the small split caused by that final felling blow.

Shawn shot him one last sidelong look as the butterfly bandage was patted into place, then stood as soon as his tormentor turned to dispose of the plastic trappings.

"You need my statement, right?" he asked, his eyes quite clearly begging her to say yes.

Juliet cast a look at the EMT who waved dismissively. Shawn would survive, especially since he'd managed to avoid a concussion _despite_ the repeated attempts to give him one this night.

"Yes," she said with a nod as she refocused on Shawn. "We will. But first, Lassiter would like to have a word with you."

Shawn gave a sound that was dismayed yet resigned and bore a close resemblance to a whimper.

"Please can we not go with that idea? My head hurts already and I don't think yelling at me is going to help."

"No yelling. Gus was gracious enough to take that for you. He just needs a few details cleared up."

Shawn sighed. "Okay." He followed her lead as they headed over to the red sedan where Lassiter and Gus were talking.

"So Gus and I were going to go celebrate solving the case—and surviving the night—at Outback. Wanna come?"

Juliet replied with, "I think I'm going to be a little busy here. Not all of us get to solve a case and hand off the clean up and paperwork to someone else." But she was smiling when she said it so Shawn knew she wasn't bitter.

"Raincheck? Gus is going out of town next week for some grand meeting of the pharmaceutical geek minds in his company."

"Yeah, I don't know about that."

Shawn employed his patented pout, but wasn't at all surprised when it failed to get an immediate concession. Juliet had long ago proven to be immune to that normally foolproof tactic.

"We'll see," she said and he resisted the urge to grin.

It wasn't a no and he was going to take that as the victory it was.

* * *

Don't ask where this came from. Just . . . don't ask.

"It's nice to be important, but it's more important to be nice." - Unknown

With that in mind, please be nice and review! :D


	2. Fun For The Kids, But Not For Shawn

Who would guess that a Chuck E. Cheese could be so dangerous?

* * *

"Tell me again why we're here, Shawn?"

"Because, Gus, I can't have a vision of Valerie Thomas as the kidnapper unless I have something to back it up. We don't want to repeat the 'Bradley Street Burglar' incident, do we?"

A shadow crossed Gus' eyes as his expression went flat. "No," he said darkly. "We don't."

"Exactly. So I need to get a 'reading' on Valerie to confirm what I already suspect."

"And how do you expect to do that? You're not really psychic."

"I don't need to be. I'm looking for something very specific that will tie her to Kaylie Bannock's kidnapping."

Gus shot his best friend a _look_. "And you think she's going to have some piece of incriminating evidence that links her to a highly publicized kidnapping with her at work? She works at a Chuck E. Cheese, Shawn. They don't generally let kidnappers work here."

"They do when they don't know they're kidnappers."

"But if she has a tattoo on her forehead that says 'Ask me about kidnapping children for fun and profit' I think they'd notice."

Now it was Shawn's turn to level a _look_ at Gus. "She doesn't have it tattooed on her forehead."

"Well that's how you made it sound. And how exactly do you expect to be able to get in there without raising suspicions ourselves? I don't want a repeat of the 'Creepy Guys at the Park' incident either."

Shawn rolled his eyes. "We're not going to be arrested. We're safety inspectors for the state Board of Children's Play Areas."

"Ohhh. So _that's_ why you dressed up," Gus said. "Mm-hmm. It's all starting to make sense now."

Shawn looked down at his clothes, sports jacket over a pressed (permanently) button-down shirt that was actually buttoned and not plaid, and slacks with shoes he'd last worn to a wedding.

"Too much?" he asked.

"No. It looks nice," Gus said sincerely. "Just not your usual style."

Shawn smirked. "Thanks."

"But probably not the best choice for entering a Chuck E. Cheese. You _will_ have a stain on those pants by the time we're done."

"Nah. I'm not worried," Shawn said dismissively as he slipped his shades on. "Are we going to do this?"

Gus looked at the sign on the building, repressed an instinctive shudder at the chaos he was about to willingly enter, then inhaled deeply and let the breath out slowly. "Yeah. Let's get it over with."

"Sweet."

They exited the car and headed up to the door.

Shawn charmed the girl at the door who only barely saw the documentation he furnished, though she did look at it. She was too busy blushing at Shawn's flirting to really read it though.

They then entered the inner sanctum of the children's play center. It was all the contained chaos Gus had imagined and more.

"Do you know where she's working?" Gus asked quietly as he scanned the room for their target.

"Nope. We'll just have to take a good look around." With that Shawn set off at an easy stroll, his eyes sweeping over everything as he occasionally took notes on the clipboard he'd brought with him.

For the next two hours Gus followed him as he did a better than decent job of being a fake inspector of children's play areas. Of course, he was a fake psychic for the police on a daily basis.

This was a cakewalk in comparison.

They'd already made the rounds of most of the video and climbing toy areas as well as the concessions area—including the kitchen where Shawn had scammed a couple of slices of pizza. All that was left was the prize distribution area and the stage area in the back.

It was while Shawn was chatting with the girl working the prize counter that Gus spotted Valerie heading back to the kitchen with a tray full of dirty dishes.

He elbowed his partner and when Shawn pulled himself away and the girl busied herself with retrieving a prize he pointed at where Valerie had just reappeared with an empty tray for a second load.

"Excellent, Gus," he congratulated. "Way to keep a sharp eye out. I'll make a detective out of you yet."

Gus just glared.

"Let's go talk to her already. I have better things to do than troll for dates at a Chuck E. Cheese."

"I am _not_ trolling for dates," Shawn said indignantly. "I'm working the scene. Totally different."

"Uh huh. Can we go _work the scene_ with Valerie in the stage area now?"

"Yes, Impatient McAntsy-Pants. We can go to the stage area. I just want to establish one thing before we go."

"What's that?"

"You're not anxious to go back there because you still want an autograph from Chucky, are you? Sissy Richards' eighth birthday was a long time ago. You need to get past it."

"Shawn-"

"If you can't though, I'll understand," he continued, completely ignoring Gus and holding his hands up placatingly. "Dreams are important and you can't let them die just because a little girl who thinks you have the chicken pox uninvited you to her birthday party. I just want to know now if I'm going to lose you at some point. I need to be able to make an excuse and that may take time."

"She thought I had chicken pox? Why did she think that Shawn?"

"I don't know," Shawn said, all innocence. Gus didn't buy it for a second. "She was obviously misinformed-"

"And I wonder who might have misinformed her?" he interrupted with a pointed look.

Shawn stopped, then leveled his best hurt expression at his friend.

"You think _I_ did that? Gus, I am appalled that you think I'd stoop so low as to lie about you having a very contagious and uncomfortable disease just because she didn't invite me."

"She didn't invite you because you brought a live mouse to Sherrie Dukenot's pool party and let it loose."

That took Shawn by surprise. "Really? Why would that matter to her? I wasn't going to do that at her party. She wasn't a snob like Sherrie."

Gus rolled his eyes. "They were best friends, Shawn. If she invited you, Sherrie would never have spoken to her again."

"Really?" Shawn repeated, his brow furrowing as he processed this. "How did I never know that they were friends, let alone _best_ friends?"

"I don't know. Can we go now?"

"Sure. And we'll even get you that autograph since it means so much."

Gus didn't bother to respond to that beyond a glare and stalking off.

"Let the anger go, buddy," Shawn called. "Twenty-two years is long enough."

o.o

Gus was waiting for him just inside the large room that was filled with rows of tables leading up to a stage on the far side. At the moment curtains covered it and a ridiculously large sign to the right of it informed anyone but those who were truly blind that the next show started in ten minutes.

How you'd be able to hear it, Shawn didn't know, since at the moment there were thirty-six children currently seated at the tables, each and every one of them trying to out-scream or out-talk their neighbor.

There were several partial-to-empty pizza pans spread out among the groups and even one birthday cake that had somehow managed to remain untouched—probably thanks to the eagle-eyed mother sitting next to it.

However, Valerie had yet to make her reappearance.

When another employee dressed in bold primary colors came in to continue the busing of the tables Shawn began to suspect they'd been made.

"Stay here and keep an eye out for her. I'm going to check the kitchens."

"What? Why?" Gus demanded, eying the copious amounts of grease, tomato sauce, and red icing that were in ready supply, available, and very capable of staining his clothes.

"Because I think she might have figured out who we are and is trying to escape right now."

Gus pulled his gaze away to look at his partner. "You're serious?"

"They only have one person scheduled to wait tables back here right now. And that's not Valerie," he said pointing to the young man clearing plates from an empty table, "despite this being her assigned shift."

Gus' eyebrows lowered. "How do you know that, Shawn?"

"I saw the schedule in the kitchen."

"You _what?"_ he hissed.

"What?" Shawn asked in genuine confusion. "It was posted next to the door."

"So you've know for-" Gus checked his watch, "-an hour and fifteen minutes that Valerie was back here?"

"Yes. Why is this a big deal?"

"_Because we spent the last hour and fifteen minutes playing state board inspectors when you _knew _where she was."_

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Well, yeah, I knew where she was, but if we came straight here that would have been suspicious. We have to stay in character."

"This isn't a play or a movie, Shawn. There is no 'character' to stay in."

"Sure there is. And right now, you're blowing it—not to mention that your insistence on arguing about this now has given Valerie time to escape. Can I go see if you just eliminated any chance of me solving this case?"

Anger—and the desire to not get beaten up by a mother who heard the language that would certainly have escaped his mouth if he did—kept Gus from being able to speak, so Shawn took advantage of that and clapped him on the shoulder.

"I'll be right back. Sit tight and if she comes through here stop her. Tackle her if you have to."

Gus' commentary on the likelihood of _that_ happening was cut off before it began as Shawn jogged away and disappeared out the door.

Silently Gus turned back to the room, a scowl etched into his face.

Shawn was going to pay for this and dearly too.

o.o

Shawn reentered the kitchen area, his eyes immediately scanning for any sign of the petite brunette named Valerie Thomas.

She wasn't there and he was weighing the merits of the two escape routes he could see, one leading out back to the dumpster and the other leading to the dressing room area where the performers suited up for the show.

He hadn't yet decided when Marie Robenstein, the manager, spotted him and came over.

"Mr. McDonald, was there something else you needed?" she asked politely.

"Call me Ronald, please," he said, turning the charm on like a hot water tap. "And there is, in fact, something that I think you can help me with. "I've got some questions about the performance room. I saw one of your employees in there earlier who seemed to be quite knowledgeable. She was about this tall," he said, putting his hand up at the appropriate height. "Brown hair, blue eyes, a very chipper smile."

"Oh you mean Valerie. Yes, she's very knowledgeable about the performance room. Normally that would be the best place to find her, but right now she's offered to fill in for one of our performers who is out with the flu. Right now you'll find her back in the dressing area getting ready for the next show in five minutes."

Shawn doubted that, but it narrowed his choice down and gave him somewhere to start looking.

"Thanks," he said with another charming smile. "You've been so very helpful."

"You're welcome," Marie said and smiled back.

Threading his way through the busy kitchen, he made as decent time as he could without looking like he was hurrying.

The hallway leading to the dressing rooms, one male and one female, was empty and he entered and tried not to look out of place.

The door to the female dressing room opened and voices floated out.

"Come _on_. No one's going to be able to see your face."

"I'm coming!" a voice called.

Shawn ducked back into the kitchen and pretended to jot down some notes while he waited for the two of them to walk past.

A sidelong glance as they reached the door he was standing next to made him do a double take at the sight of a giant, fuzzy, purple monster walking with a chicken in a cheerleader's outfit.

"Are you going out with Jared tonight?" the monster asked.

"Not tonight," the chicken replied. "I have something else planned. But tomorrow we're going to the Southern Sunset Grill."

"Oooh. Nice."

Laughter faded as they got further away. He counted to five, then followed, resolutely ignoring his father's voice in his head that was reminding him that he didn't have a plan and going in without a plan was stupid—with a capital 'S'.

Besides, he had a plan.

Sort of.

Okay not really.

But winging it was his specialty. He'd think of something.

Stepping out onto the stage he paused, taking a moment to scan the area.

The chicken was at the back and to his right by a control console where she was setting things up for the show it seemed.

The monster was standing by an appropriately sized keyboard, looking down at it.

"So do you think he's going to ask you-" it started to ask as it swung its head up to look at the chicken.

Unfortunately Shawn was in the line of sight in between.

"Who are you?"

The chicken laughed.

"Why would he ask me who I am?" she asked as she turned. Then she spotted Shawn and uttered a curse.

"Val?" the monster asked.

Val the Chicken just turned and sprinted for the door on the opposite side of the stage.

Okay this wasn't part of his non-existent plan, but Shawn really didn't have a choice at that point.

He took off, catching up and tackling her in the middle of the stage.

She rolled over and launched a feather covered fist at his jaw which he managed to avoid.

He needed to get her costume head off so he could see if she was wearing the necklace . . .

"Val!" the monster yelled, though it didn't get any closer. "Get off of her, you-"

"Stop twitching!" Shawn snarled as he tried to work his fingers under the edge at her neck.

"Denise!" Val shouted. "Open the curtains! Rod and Adam are out on the floor already!"

"Got it!" the monster yelled and ran over, yanking on the cords that controlled the big curtains.

They split open with a loud shushing sound as they were ripped back and Shawn and Val both froze.

Slowly he turned his head to see a full audience yelling and screaming with joy.

Until, that is, they realized that Shawn was apparently trying to strangle their beloved Helen Henny.

"What the-" Chuck E. said, finishing out the phrase with a word that got him several glares and a "Watch your language!" from the parents in the crowd.

But before he or Jasper T. Jowls the hound dog could get to the stage and help her, one of the kids in the crowd yelled, "LET HER GO!" and followed it up by firing a shot from the Nerf Gun he'd gotten for his birthday.

Shawn was deeply disturbed by the resemblance it bore to a sniper rifle.

That train of thought was quickly derailed when the foam and rubber tipped bullet hit him in the nose and actually hurt.

"Ow!" He let go of Valerie with one hand and reached up to rub the smarting appendage.

That was the only thing that allowed him to have his arm up in time to avoid a handful of cake in his eyes, though not on his sleeve.

With the second volley as successful as the first, the rest of the ranks opened fire, an assortment of pizza, cake, glasses of soda, and various toys and toy parts filling out their arsenal.

Shawn hadn't forgotten Valerie, but self-preservation kicked in and he let go of her completely to shield himself as he tried to stand to make his escape.

Which was really hard to do with pizza grease, soda, and icing everywhere, not to mention the little toy pieces that were excellent trip hazards.

Valerie, was hampered by the same mess, but crawling away gained her an advantage in that the rain of food and plastic didn't follow her.

"Stop it!" Shawn shouted. "Come on! I wasn't trying to- OW! Who threw that?" he demanded when a plate hit him hard on the thigh, daring a look from behind his arms. An angry little league mom was winding up for a second pitch and he had to drop to the ground again to avoid a second strike.

"What kind of an example is that for the kids?!" he yelled.

"He's down!" a small voice yelled. "GET HIM!"

Shawn's head popped up and panic infused his features at the sight of the roomful of kids stampeding his way, intent on climbing up on the stage and beating the crap out of him.

"Oh no . . ." he breathed and pushed to his feet again. He only got two steps before he went down hard on one knee, but he refused to let the pain that caused stop him from escaping.

A flash of white feathers disappearing out the door on the other side of the stage reminded him of why he was here and with gritted teeth and pure stubborn determination he rose and went after her, arms only occasionally flying out comically to help him keep his balance.

The advancing horde had reached the stage and were in the process of vaulting up with an ease that would make any Olympic gymnast jealous.

"Gus!" Shawn yelled, "It's her! She's getting away! Stop her!"

Gus, still standing against the back wall, debated for a moment before shaking his head and pulling out his cell phone.

He was _not_ getting in on this one.

Not when there were better ways to help.

"_Santa Barbara Police Department."_

"I'd like to speak with Detective Lassiter."

o.o

When Juliet and Lassiter arrived at the Chuck E. Cheese, four uniforms at their backs, it was to a scene of carnage and destruction that rivaled that caused by some large scale natural disasters.

Food and remnants thereof coated the walls, the ceiling, the floor, and everyone in sight.

The prize area had been ransacked and the prizes lay in pieces and parts all over, mingling with a rainbow colored assortment of balls that had been liberated from the ball pits.

Dishes were also added into the mix, some whole, but most no longer. A few brightly colored scraps of what seemed to be wrapping paper and decorations torn down from the walls added a kind of festive touch to the whole thing.

The doorway to the back area where the stage was located was barricaded with chairs, through which children's faces were visible.

"What in the name of sweet justice-" Lassiter said just as someone else shouted.

"GIVE IT UP, VALERIE!" The voice was familiar and, even though Lassiter _knew_ he was here, he still closed his eyes in resignation and swallowed the prayer for mercy from the heavens above. It wouldn't be answered anyway.

All other eyes went to the game area where, with a few steps in past the abandoned greeter's podium and turnstile, one could see Shawn crouched behind the overturned ice hockey table.

But where was Gus?

"I AM GOING TO KILL YOU, SHAWN!"

Like spectators at a tennis tournament, attention shifted to the climbing area where they could now see two people—in a very loose sense of the word considering that faux feathers were visible—were huddled.

"Not if I kill you first," a third voice said, then the volume was kicked up a notch. "BACK OFF, SPENCER! IF I DON'T GET OUT OF HERE, NEITHER DOES HE!"

Juliet gasped, not quite managing to smother it before it escaped.

Shawn glanced over and did a double take, then grinned. Glancing at the cage where Valerie had holed up with Gus he judged the angles and chuckled softly.

She couldn't see them. Perfect. And they'd brought back- Whoa.

The cop behind Buzz stepped to the side, a worried expression on his face before he cleared it, and Shawn had a sudden flash of insight.

_/"Are you going out with Jared tonight?" the monster asked._

"_Not tonight," the chicken replied. "I have something else planned. But tomorrow we're going to the Southern Sunset Grill."_

"_Oooh. Nice."_

Now that was interesting indeed.

His grin stretching he put a finger to his lips to indicate silence, then reached down to snag a bean bag. Bouncing it in his hands a few times he rose up suddenly and pitched it at the side of the cage before dropping down again.

"SHAWN!" Gus said in a slightly higher register than before.

"Getting out of here won't help you, Val. It's too late. Your secret is blown already."

"You don't have any proof of anything," she shot back.

"I'm a psychic. _I_ don't need the proof. That's for the detectives to find. Although when I tell them about your necklace-"

"I TOLD YOU! I LOST THAT CHARM HERE!"

"An argument I'm sure your lawyer will employ, but with no more success," Shawn retorted. "It was a custom made charm, Val. And being found in possession of a kidnapping victim who never came to this particular franchise location doesn't look good for you. Especially when she's already told the police that she took it from her kidnapper."

"SHUT UP!"

"Is that how you and your boyfriend are planning to pay for your big dinner tomorrow night at the Southern Sunset Grill?"

"I SAID- Wait. How do you know about that?"

Shawn rolled his eyes.

"I'm _psychic._ We've been over this." He paused, then asked, "So what are you and Jared celebrating? The successful commission of a felony? I mean, it's a pretty big accomplishment. Especially since he's a cop," he added looking at the silent witnesses—and no longer unidentified suspect. "Pretty impressive."

Lassiter and Juliet exchanged a look, then both turned to look at the pale officer standing behind them.

He started to take a step back, but Lassiter reached out and grabbed his arm. A nod to Buzz had his other side flanked and he visibly deflated.

Valerie snorted. "Not really. They never even suspected him. And it was so easy for him to get rid of any evidence that implicated me."

"They do now," Shawn said and stood up.

"What?" Valerie asked, then her eyes moved over to where Lassiter and Juliet had stepped into view.

She paled, her jaw working. "But . . . I . . ."

"Valerie Thomas," Lassiter said, "you're under arrest for the kidnapping of Kaylie Bannock."

Her mouth snapped shut and she tightened her grip on Gus, the knife in her hands shaking as she held it close to his throat.

"STAY BACK! I'LL DO IT! I SWEAR I WILL!"

Tension swept the room at the desperate threat.

It was Jared who broke it.

"Val, give up."

"NO! You have to let me and Jared go. And I want a car. And . . . and money. Twenty-thousand dollars."

"Val, don't," Jared plead. "You're just making it worse."

"But-"

Their eyes met and after a long moment she lowered her hand and let Gus go.

As soon as the knife touched the floor of the cage he scooted away, crawling on his elbows and stomach through the tiny tube that led to the stairs down.

Lassiter issued directions to the uniforms to secure the area and Valerie, and check on the kids in the other room. Buzz was told to escort Jared outside and call for more support.

Shawn limped over to join the two detectives, Gus staggering over a minute later, his shaken and furious expression aimed squarely at Shawn.

Juliet, however, spoke first, her eyes traveling up and down Shawn's ruined clothes and disheveled appearance.

"What happened to you?"

Shawn looked himself over and then shrugged. "A little misunderstanding with the kids."

"They thought he was trying to strangle Valerie—only she was Helen Henny at the time," Gus supplied.

Shawn grinned and Lassiter rolled his eyes.

"Are you seriously injured?" he asked.

The question was not at all what Shawn was expecting so it took a moment for him to catch up. When he did it was with a huge grin. "Why, Lassie! I didn't know you cared!"

Lassiter just leveled an unamused stare. "Are you?"

Shawn waved it away. "Nah. I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" Juliet asked, concern still obvious in her eyes.

"Well," Shawn said as he took a step and 'stumbled' towards her. She caught him and he very carefully hid the grin that prompted. "Now that you mention it, I could use some help getting out to the car."

"Guster, you can take him. O'Hara, go start getting statements from the parents."

Shawn frowned, but he couldn't really protest lest Juliet see through his ruse.

"Gus?" Shawn said.

Gus just glared, then walked away without a word.

"Gus?" Shawn said. "Gus!"

The three of them clearly saw Gus climb into the Psychmobile, turn it on, and pull away, staring pointedly at Shawn the entire time.

There was a beat, then Shawn grinned once more.

"Well, I guess I'll be needing a ride."

Lassiter rolled his eyes again. "Whatever. O'Hara, find him a seat and then go get statements."

She nodded and helped him limp over to a booth that was covered in less food than the others.

"Do you need anything?"

"Well, now that you mention it-"

"O'Hara!"

She winced and gave him an apologetic look. He chuckled and shooed her away.

"Go. I'll be fine."

She started to leave, then stopped when he called her name.

"If you get a chance, can you tell Chuck E. to come see me?"

She arched an eyebrow and he smiled crookedly. "Don't ask."

She just nodded and turned to leave. "I wasn't going to," she breathed as she walked away. "Some things not even _I _want to know."

* * *

Yeah, I know. Still not much in the way of describing the whump.

I promise next time there will be blood. :D

Review, please and thank you!


	3. Deck The Halls and Shawn

Blame Jenn if your Christmases are forever ruined. Twas all her fault for the idea.

And the blood is all Luna.

:D

* * *

"Wakey, wakey, cream and cakey!"

Shawn groaned when the soft voice in his ear roused him from his blissful state of unconsciousness to one of a percussion section on meth in his head.

He lifted his head and forced his eyes open a crack. When that didn't yield much more pain he opened them further and blinked to clear them.

And promptly jerked back to escape the manic elf grinning at him from approximately an inch away. That overbalanced him and he tumbled backwards, landing with a crash. More pain came then since his arms were secured behind him and therefore crushed between the back of the chair and the cold cement floor.

He stared up at the unfinished-warehouse-type ceiling, panting heavily through his nose at the way the new injuries amplified the headache and sent the drummers into a frantic overdrive. Someone needed to tell them that nobody won a competition by breaking their instruments.

He didn't think anything had been broken or dislocated in his fall but he couldn't be completely positive. He could only hope for the best and some painkillers. Or more unconsciousness and an ambulance.

Death was also an option, but not his top choice just yet.

The elf returned, gripping the edges of the chair and tipping him back up onto all four feet.

He wished he could tell her _exactly_ what he thought of this shoddy treatment, but the wide ribbon that doubled as packing tape over his mouth made that difficult so he settled for attempting to spontaneously develop real psychic powers.

He'd prefer the ability to make her head explode, but he'd settle for telepathy so he could communicate without needing his lips. The only question once he succeeded would be whether he should first yell at her or call for help.

He'd have to work on doing both at once.

She brushed at him as if to make him more presentable and he pulled sharply away from her hands with a glare.

She just flashed an even brighter-and-yet-less-mentally-stable grin and then walked away.

"Mmph!" he tried to yell at her to come back, but she just ignored him and kept walking.

He huffed and slumped in the chair—as much as his bonds would allow, glaring at her until she was out of sight.

Well this was just _peachy_.

He wasn't even entirely sure how he'd gotten here . . . wherever here was, he amended as he looked around to try to answer that question at least.

The utilitarian walls and rows of shelves loaded with boxes confirmed the earlier 'warehouse' assessment. The question was, what _kind_ of warehouse? And why was he here?

And why had he been kidnapped by an elf from Santa's workshop?

Okay that last part wasn't entirely correct. Shawn seriously doubted that if Santa existed he had elves who were dressed like _she_ had been.

Not unless Santa's secret alter ego was that of Hugh Hefner.

But no matter how physically attractive she may have been, the air of insanity that surrounded her was a serious turn off. Not to mention the psychotic percussion party that was still raging in his head.

He winced at the renewed fervor that thought spiked in the volume and intensity of the pounding.

All right. Time to get serious about changing his location to one where he could get some of the good-yet-legal drugs available to the medical profession.

What did he know?

1. He was in a warehouse.

2. He was tied to a chair and gagged. An experimental tug on his wrists told him he wasn't going to be busting out of her Hulk style—and his captor had a thing for Christmas. At least, he thought she did.

Besides the elf getup, he was pretty sure that his hands were secured with garland. Really freaking STRONG garland, but garland none the less.

3. He was in a LOT of pain.

4. He had been abducted by the Playmate for December—who would not be winning any awards for sanity this millennium.

What did he not know?

a. How in the name of Kris Kringle he'd gotten here.

b. Where exactly _here_ was.

c. What the crazed up Froot Loop of a centerfold wanted with him.

Okay.

So where did that leave him?

Still tied up and as confused as ever.

He was contemplating the wisdom of trying to bounce and/or push his chair to a new location that might yield him some more useful information when the click of spike-heeled footsteps indicated a return of December the Half-Baked Elf.

_Or not,_ he corrected when his visitor rounded the corner.

She was dressed like a Elf Bunny as the other had been, but her hair was blonde to the other's red.

Also, Shawn knew for a fact that she wasn't crazy.

"Mm-mm-mmph?" he questioned, eyebrows raised.

She gave a nervous glance around, but her bright and vapid smile never faltered.

"Someone's been a bad boy this year," she said coyly, though for who, Shawn didn't know. Unless they were being monitored electronically. He filed that away for later.

The slight quaver to her voice gave away her nerves, but she was doing an admirable job otherwise.

Then she sat on his lap, draping her arms over his shoulders and his eyebrows inched higher.

Okay he _really _wished he had telepathic powers right about now so he could ask her what the _heck_ was going on.

She giggled inanely, then leaned down until her lips were just millimeters from his ear.

"Lassiter and Chief are tossing a coin as to who gets to shoot you first with the new tasers," she whispered as one of her hands slid down his back. She was holding something, but what exactly he wasn't sure until it was applied to the bonds on his wrists.

A quick yank and she'd sliced through the restraints. He started to bring his arms forward, but she stopped him, tucking the garland ends into his hands and folding them into fists.

"Not yet," she explained. "We've got SWAT on the way though they may not get here in time. Be ready to either run or hit the deck when the time comes. Oh and, you may not have to worry about the tasers. I'm pretty sure either Gus or your dad will kill you before that."

She pulled back a little to look him in the eyes, then kissed him full on the mouth.

"And if you think you can avoid dinner with my parents by getting killed, then you've got another think coming, Psychic. Good luck."

With that Juliet stood and sashayed out of sight once more.

Leaving a thoroughly befuddled and somewhat dazed Shawn to wonder if he'd already been _given_ some drugs—though not of the painkiller variety obviously.

Pushing down the urge to flex his arms since obviously he was being watched—a glance up pinpointed the black blister of a security camera on the ceiling.

Yup. Dang.

But where were the bugs for sound?

He gave the area another sweep but saw nothing immediately obvious.

Oh well. He knew they were there.

Not that it mattered much since he couldn't speak. But still, it was good to know. He'd just have to wait for help to arrive.

With nothing else to do until the cavalry came charging in, he tried to recall what had brought him to this vaguely hallucinatory point.

Nothing immediately popped into his head so he backtracked to earlier that day—or what he thought was earlier that day.

He remembered going to the office to retrieve his Christmas present for Juliet . . .

The door was unlocked.

He'd thought about calling Gus and pulled out his phone . . . and then it ended abruptly at that point.

That probably explained his pounding head and the period of unconsciousness.

It didn't do much to explain the rest of it.

Especially not Juliet's undercover presence here.

He wasn't terribly surprised to find that he wasn't having the same reaction to her as December. In fact, he was rather happily distracted for a few minutes with the repeated instant replay of her visit.

Sometimes he _loved_ having a photographic memory.

His happy ruminations were unfortunately interrupted by the arrival of more visitors. Several if the number of clicks were any indication.

Then the entourage rounded the corner and his eyebrows ran to hide under his hair.

It was a whole calendar's worth of Elf Bunnies. All of them were on the REALLY side of attractive, but only one was on the STABLE side of mentality.

He got nervous for a moment when they started to form a circle, but the kept it to a half so Juliet's preparations weren't revealed.

And then came the ring leader.

No Elf Bunny here. She was the Mrs. Claus Bunny of the lot. Complete with red velvet cape lined with fur and what might have passed for a dress on a very short and thin twelve-year-old.

"Well, well, well," she drawled as she sauntered over to him and bent down to put her eyes on his level. "Mr. Shawn Spencer, pet psychic of the Santa Barbara Boys in Blue."

She caressed one cheek with her hand, then slipped the edge of a blood red nail under the edge of the duct tape. With a vicious tug she ripped it away.

"Ow-how-how-how-howww!" He bit the inside of his cheek, resisting the urge to curse at the new pain that joined the headache and his arms in screaming at him. He leveled a glare at her but she just straightened and put a hand to her open mouth in mock dismay.

"Oh I'm _sorry._ Did that _hurt?_" She bent down and took his chin in her fingers.

"Poor baby," she crooned and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

He jerked away and she laughed and straightened once more.

"I have to admit, Shawn. Can I call you Shawn?"

"No."

"Fantastic!" she said, flashing a grin.

"So, Shawn, I'm very disappointed in you."

"It's one of my strongest virtues," he replied. "Just ask anyone. I _excel_ at disappointing people. My father can barely admit he spawned me at times because of it. And Lassiter, wow. He-"

CRACK.

The slap left Shawn's ears ringing and notched the volume on his headache up a bit more. Lovely.

He worked his jaw and rolled his shoulders.

Then he coughed deliberately. "Ow?" he said in his most smart-aleck tone.

She ignored him except to smirk at his pain.

"Do you know why I am disappointed in you, Shawn?"

"Because I'm shorter than you expected from my news clips?"

"Because you couldn't leave well enough alone."

Shawn frowned.

"Okay. I have _no_ idea what you're talking about."

"I tried to be nice," she said, still ignoring him. "I _tried_ to give you a chance to back off. But you just couldn't keep your nose out of my business." She glanced at one of the Elf Bunnies nearest him. "Sharla?"

Shawn's eyes flicked between the head nutcase and her loyal minion until Sharla stopped just in front of him.

"That's a really nice costume you've got there, Sharla. Is it-"

He choked on the rest of the words as his head was snapped back with a solid punch to his nose.

He didn't know if it was broken—frankly the only reason he knew she hadn't knocked it clean off was because it hurt so dang much—but he was quite sure there was blood. He could feel it dripping down to where he could taste it on his lips, and there was a hint of liquid copper in his throat as well.

He coughed again and leaned forward, remembering only at the last second that he had to pretend to still be tied up.

More blinking and muttered cursing followed as he tried to assess the damage and regain his equilibrium.

Finally he looked up to see Sharla had retaken her spot and Chief Crazy Bunny was smiling in a not-very-reassuring way.

"Now, Rudolph, have I made myself clear?" she asked. Leaning down once more, she lowered her voice.

"Stay out of my business."

He was about to say that he didn't even know what her business was when he had a sudden flash of memory.

A series of robberies from wealthy men all over the county had been stumping the SBPD's finest until Karen finally gave in to Shawn's begging and allowed him to look at the case files.

He'd come up empty too until he'd happened to stumble on a connection between the victims that hadn't been immediately obvious—until one angry ex-wife had ratted her former hubby out during Shawn's investigation.

All of the victims were patrons of the woman standing before him, one Candy Cane, Proprietress of the _Santa's Little Helper Escort Service_.

Her girls were the scouts, weeding out the marks from the other clients and then doing the recon necessary to enable Ms. Cane to take advantage of future appointments. While the men were being seen with a beautiful young thing on their arm at all their Christmas engagements, their houses were being looted of all the valuables they'd left behind.

What Shawn still didn't know was how Candy had found out. He hadn't even had a chance to tell Gus yet what he'd found, let alone Lassiter and Juliet.

Although, Juliet's presence here suggested that she and her partner had somehow drawn the same conclusions that he had.

He was both unhappy and alarmed with how that had led to her going undercover among them.

Apparently he'd been silent too long because his chin was grasped in her talons once more, his eyes forced up to meet hers.

"Are. We. Clear?" She squeezed and Shawn gasped, adding gouges from her claws to the list of injuries he was accruing.

He wanted to be able to give an accurate tally to the paramedics when they _finally _got here.

"As a bottle of Absolut. Can I go now?"

She stared at him for a minute longer and he dared to hope she might say yes.

Then she grinned and all his hopes when down the toilet with a swirl.

"You know, _Shawn_, you shouldn't lie to me. I'll tell Santa that you belong on the Naughty list."

Shawn snorted.

"Has anyone ever told you that you are seriously cracked? Because I've seen car windshields after a head on collision with a Mack Truck that are more intact than you."

Her smile did a sharp one-eighty into a scowl and he was left wishing he'd learned how to keep his freaking mouth shut.

She let him go and straightened, her cold eyes still locked on him as she gave him an assessing sweep.

"Girls, I don't think he understands what I mean. Explain for me, would you?"

Oh man, he thought, swallowing as he took in the dark looks on the Elf Bunny faces. This was going to hurt.

Unless . . . he could run.

Juliet said that the SWAT was coming, but that they might not make it in time.

They were all wearing stiletto heels. He had on sneakers.

They couldn't possibly catch up to him. He'd be out of here and set to meet the SWAT team halfway before they could even make it out of the warehouse he'd bet.

Then his eyes met Juliet's and his plan crumbled.

And once he was gone they'd immediately start looking for an explanation as to how he'd gotten free.

It would be quite obvious that he'd still been tied up when Red had left and had only had one visitor since then.

Crap.

Well, there was only one thing left to do.

He shot up and out of the chair, headed straight for Juliet.

Valiantly ignoring his protesting muscles he ducked slightly and went straight for the junior detective, tackling her at the waist and scooping her up onto his shoulder as he kept running.

Cries of outrage followed them as he bolted down an aisle between two shelves and kept running for the wall. He had no idea where he was going, but logic clearly stated that there had to be a door out of here somewhere in the outer wall. He'd just follow it until he found it.

Or until Santa's Rabid Elf Bunnies cornered them and ripped him to shreds.

A sudden sympathy for the knights in _Monty Python and the Holy Grail_ surfaced in his mind.

He pushed it down and kept running.

From the gasping coming just behind his shoulder he gathered that he'd knocked the wind out of Juliet. He felt bad about that, but winded was better than dead.

"Sorry, Jules," he panted, pausing at the junction of aisle and the outer wall, glancing both ways. No doorways were immediately visible and he hesitated a moment more, trying to decided which to pick.

She coughed and he tried to shift his grip on her legs to a position that would allow her to breathe more easily. He'd love to set her down—and not just because it would help her breathing. She really needed to cut out her early morning danish routine—but she was wearing those darn heels too.

They did wonderful things for the length of her legs, horrible things for her ability to outrun killer call girls.

He still hadn't picked a direction when she coughed again. He half turned at the sound of furious clicking coming from behind them.

"Right or left? Come on, Shawn, pick one," he muttered.

Right was a shorter distance to the corner of the room.

Left was-

"Left."

Shawn paused and glanced Juliet's direction—then away when he realized that meant he was staring at her butt. Not that it wasn't a nice view, but he needed to stay focused.

On escaping.

"What?" he asked.

"Go left," she wheezed.

"But-"

"Door to outside," she coughed.

"Right," he said.

"LEFT!" she rasped, smacking him on the back.

"Ow! I'm going left!" he said and headed out. "I . . ." he panted in explanation, "was . . . agreeing . . . with you."

She didn't answer and he was grateful for that since he wasn't really up to carrying on a conversation at the moment.

He was almost to the corner when he heard her gasp again.

"Shawn!" she yelled in warning, but it wasn't quite fast enough.

Something heavy hit the back of his knees and he went down with a crash of glass, a scream from Juliet, and a cry of pain from him, a second following when he landed on his knees and felt something pop into a painfully awkward position it wasn't meant to hold.

Fortunately, rolling to the side and taking the pressure off let it return to the right position, but that didn't stop the pain. Damage had quite obviously been done.

He tried to get up but the floor bit painfully into his hands and he recoiled, rolling onto his back. What the heck?

Next to him Juliet was keeping up a steady stream of profanities as she carefully regained her feet amid the shattered remains of the snow globes that her formerly fellow Elf Bunnies had used to bring down Shawn.

A glance told her that they didn't have much time and any advantage Shawn had gained with his ability to run faster was quickly vanishing.

"Shawn! Get up!" she ordered and grabbed his hands to help him.

He hissed and yanked his hands away, but not before she saw the blood on them and realized he must have picked up shards in them.

She swore again, but had no more time to waste on worrying about it. She reached past his hands and grabbed his wrists, tugging to get him on his feet.

"Gah! Stop, Juliet! Forget about me you have to go."

"Shawn, we don't have time for nobility," she said through gritted teeth. "Get up _now_ or I swear-"

He cried out again and yanked back.

"I can't," he said. "My knee-"

"Stop them both!" Candy yelled as the advancing horde drew ever closer, their heels on the floor sounding like a secretarial typing pool gone mad.

Juliet swore again, then grabbed Shawn's arm and gave it a squeeze. "Just don't let them kill you. I'll be back as soon as I can."

And she was gone, running down the aisle between the shelves towards the exit and freedom.

He let his head fall back as he tried not to think about how badly he was screwed.

"Sharla, Bambi, after that traitorous little tramp."

Then he was surrounded by a mass of red and green velvet and fake fur.

Candy grinned down at him from the circle of faces.

"As for you, Shawn . . . I don't know what your connection to her is, but you just appointed her fall girl for our little operation. And the lead suspect in the arson/homicide that is going to destroy this warehouse. Hope she was worth it."

Shawn grinned with a confidence he didn't feel.

"Oh she's definitely worth it," he said.

Candy's grin turned shark-like.

"Let's see if you're still saying that by the time we're done with you. Bring him," she ordered.

Two of the Elf Bunnies grabbed his arms and hauled him to his feet. Weight on his either knee was unpleasant, but he could manage better on the one that wasn't rapidly swelling to match the size of the snow globe that had taken him down.

With painful hops and pathetic skips he managed to keep up with his escorts as they led him off to what was promising to be a very painful wait for a rescue.

He just hoped Juliet had managed to get away.

o.o

Juliet crouched behind the crate filled with boxes of glass ornaments and tried to keep her breathing from giving herself away. She'd mostly gotten it under control after Shawn's dramatic if painful attempt to escape.

Not that she blamed him. She hadn't had any ideas at the time and she'd survive.

Well, she'd survive _that_ part of tonight's activities. There was still a chance that playing these reindeer games with the other girls would kill her yet.

She was hoping not.

And speaking of the other girls . . .

The soft click of heels was very quiet since 'Tag' had segued into 'Hide and Seek' but still audible.

Obviously Bambi was more suited to the role of felonious bimbo than stealthy assassin. Juliet had ditched her heels at the first opportunity and snagged a pair of super thick slippers that looked more like cartoon character tennis shoes than footwear for actual people.

She'd have gone for barefoot since that offered the best chance of silence, but she had formed a plan during her earlier running and for it she would need _something_ on her feet.

Now she just needed to get her pursuers to the spot she'd carefully prepared and-

A sound behind her reminded her that Sharla wasn't nearly as stupid as Bambi. Nor was she as soft and useless in the muscles department.

She turned, saw the brunette glaring at her, and then turned and bolted. She just managed to dodge around Bambi who had been about to turn the corner and kept going.

Bambi squealed in surprise, then followed when Sharla yelled at her to get her fat butt in gear.

Fueled by the insult, Bambi put on a burst of speed forcing Juliet to do the same, lest the taller blonde catch up with her by sheer stride advantage.

She led the two on a merry chase through the warehouse and into the section where the shelves gave way to the open floor where everything was unpacked, dodging and ducking around crates and pallets.

And then she saw the half empty crate of acrylic lawn ornament snowmen and grinned.

She grabbed the corner to help her make the turn, then executed a quick hop and kept going, hoping her slippers were thick enough.

The two girls followed her and—just as she'd hoped—neither was looking down.

Because of that they didn't see the garland stretched across the aisle at mid-calf height.

Or the field of shattered glass ornaments from the 'broken' bin.

Bambi's shriek was shrill and probably shattered a few more of the pieces on the floor before she hit them with her body and crushed more.

Sharla's roar was more feral, like a wildcat caught in a bear trap.

But neither was able to get up very quickly and without a lot more pain.

Juliet just grinned and kept running for the large bay door ahead of her. She'd never get it open in time, but then she didn't need to. Right next to it was the normal sized door that led out into the back parking lot.

She just really hoped that the SWAT team was waiting outside for her signal.

o.o

Shawn was thinking much the same thing.

He'd been brought back to the chair and secured once more.

Only this time, he wouldn't be breaking free—even if he had Juliet's knife with him.

They'd broken open a pallet of Christmas tree lights and mummified him.

And then—just because she was nuts, Shawn suspected—Candy had plugged him in.

It was starting to get a mite warm in his brightly flashing cocoon. Actually, more than a few spots of skin that were in constant and direct contact with a light were well beyond warm and into painfully hot. He was going to look like he'd been attacked by a swarm of mutant lightning bugs when he got out of here.

He was also officially lodging a complaint with the chief. The SWAT team obviously needed to run some speed drills.

"Well Shawn," Candy said as she brought an angel over and balanced it on his head. "I think it's time to let these girls have some more fun with you . . ."

His eyes made the rounds of the circle and he saw a lot of too bright grins that made him very glad that he wasn't a rich old man who couldn't get a date. He sincerely hoped he'd never be that desperate for female companionship.

They began to advance, each holding some formerly innocent Christmas decoration that was about to enter his catalog of Things To Never Allow In His House.

He had a feeling his celebration of the holidays in the future was going to be rather spare when it came to decorating.

The redhead from when he first woke up giggled in a way that sent chills down his spine, her long fingernails tapping lightly on the old fashioned wooden nutcracker she held. Her eyes, he noticed, were on his hands and he suddenly wished they'd wrapped his fingers in with the whole mess when they'd trussed him up.

Two of the girls held crystal icicles in their hands, another had a nutcracker like Red, one had a leather strap with large bells on it that she was slapping softly against her palm, each jingle abrading Shawn's nerves more, and the last four were behind him so he had no idea _what_ they were planning to use on him.

He just knew it would hurt. A lot.

Squeezing his eyes shut he tried to mentally prepare himself and silently cursed the SWAT team for being so slow-

And then a scream echoed through the room, making more than a few of the girls around him flinch with its shrill pitch. It was followed almost immediately by a second scream of pain, though this one had a healthy dose of rage mixed in for good measure.

His eyes flew open in time to see Candy whirl to face the section of the warehouse behind her.

Her fists clenched at her sides and she half turned back, fury twisting her features into an ugly mask.

"Delia. Bonny. Missy. Vivian. Go!"

Four of the girls—including both of the nutcrackers and the bells Shawn saw with relief—took off towards the directions of the scream.

"The rest of you go to the truck and get the kerosene and start spreading it around. I want this place to go up like a Molotov cocktail when we leave."

Her orders were acknowledged and the Psychotic Playmates dispersed.

She stood there for a moment longer, her expression ranging between annoyance and outright fury.

Then she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

Opening them, she turned back to him with a smile.

"I guess this is goodbye, Shawn," she said and picked up one of the abandoned nutcrackers. She circled behind him and he tried to follow her, to think of something to say, knowing that it would be a bad idea to let her do whatever it was she had planned.

"Merry Christmas to all," she whispered, "and to all a good _night!"_

Punctuating her final words the nutcracker came down heavily on his head and he knew no more.

o.o

Juliet burst out of the warehouse into the chilly night air and immediately wished she had something on besides an elf costume four sizes too small.

Especially when she found herself in the spotlight with a goodly number of her coworkers pointing guns at her.

The guns were lowered relatively quickly when they realized who it was, but their eyes lingered a bit longer.

She leveled a glare and hurried over to where Carlton was standing with the SWAT team leader going over plans for the building.

"O'Hara?" he said, giving her a once up and down, though it was more questioning than leering like most of the other male cops.

"What is taking you so long?" she demanded, gratefully accepting Carlton's overcoat when he offered it.

"There was a problem getting the blueprints," the team leader explained, adding dryly, "Apparently there was some major construction done year before last that the building owner wasn't aware of."

"Allow me to give you directions: Go in that door," she said, pointing to the one she used. "Go straight back until you get to the middle of the warehouse. That's where Shawn is."

"What about side entrances?" the team leader asked, his eyes still on the blueprints. Well at least they weren't on her, she grudgingly acknowledged. "And what are we looking at as far as numbers and arms?"

She bit back a snarl and forced herself to remain calm. He was just doing his job.

With a speed that made snails and turtles look like Olympic speed record setters.

"Twelve scantily clad elves with two arms apiece are what you're looking at."

"Pistols and rifles?" he asked, completely missing her sarcasm.

"Left and right," she shot back. "It's a bunch of Barbie dolls. Your biggest danger is your team being distracted by their short skirts and big chests."

Her tone finally registered and his eyes came up to meet hers.

"Well if they're that harmless then we can take our time."

Juliet took a step forward before she even thought about it, but fortunately Lassiter had seen it coming and stopped her.

"Take a deep breath, O'Hara," he admonished.

She opened her mouth to snap at him, but saw the look on his face and bit back her words. She forced herself to take his advice and then repeated it for good measure.

"There's only one really dangerous person in that warehouse. Candy Cane. Blonde, about six inches taller than me, dressed like a Mrs. Claus who's either working the streets or does all her laundry with hot water. I don't think she's armed in the conventional sense, but she's smart enough and crazy enough to improvise with whatever's around her. She'll be near Shawn more than likely."

The team leader nodded, glanced once more at the plans, then with a, "Thank you, Detective," headed off to go brief his team.

She stood there with Lassiter, feeling useless and impatient for what seemed an eternity before the black-clad SWAT moved out in groups and pairs to get into place.

He didn't bother to say anything and for once she was grateful for a partner who didn't feel the need to fill the air with chatter like she did.

Another eternity slipped by and then with a series of loud bangs and a hint of a light show the invasion was begun and the wait for action was over.

Now they could begin the wait to see if it had taken too long.

o.o

Shawn woke again when the drummers in his head were jump-started once more with a blast from outside his ears.

Between the ringing in those ears and the smoke that swept over him a moment later he was left in a state of general confusion, but he rallied what few wits he had left and deduced that SWAT had finally gotten their butts in gear and come to the rescue.

A flash of red drew his attention and then suddenly there was a muzzle from a very small handgun in his face. Still, small or not, he was pretty sure that at point blank range it would do very well in the 'splatter his brains' department.

"I'll kill him if you-" Candy started. A few deafening shots from an automatic rifle at close range interrupted her and she went down on a gurgled scream and a cough.

Shawn's eyes had stayed glued to the gun but when it hit the ground they shifted to the blood coming out of her chest and abdomen, several of the holes bubbling regularly in a way that indicated an artery had been hit.

Then there was a man dressed in black fatigues with the rifle in his hand.

"Shawn, you all right?"

He stared dumbly for a moment as time seemed to slow down to a crawl, then nodded.

He got a nod in return, then time sped up again and became a blur.

His little bubble in the smoke dimmed when the lights were unplugged, but that was it for a few minutes until the all clear was given and the paramedics and other officers were allowed in.

They were too late for Candy and so attention was soon turned to Shawn, several more hands assisting those of Juliet and Lassiter in freeing him from his Christmas light bonds.

He listed his injuries and a quick probing search of his knee had them summoning a gurney. While they waited work was begun on his cut up hands and the numerous small first- and second-degree burns from the lights.

His nose was examined and gauzed up, though it has mostly stopped bleeding by now. They'd have to x-ray to give him a better answer as to its condition.

Through it all, Juliet stayed there, a hand on his shoulder as she answered Lassiter's and the Chief's questions. Shawn was spared from that until after he'd been seen at the hospital, thankfully.

Finally his ride out of here was allowed through along with the happy surprise of Gus following behind.

"Shawn?" he said in surprise.

"Gus!" Shawn replied in his usual cheerful manner. "Dude, you missed a great party."

Gus looked around, taking in everything from the blood on the floor and the cooling body from whence it had leaked, to the mess of Christmas lights and the lingering streamers of smoke from the SWAT team's grenades to Shawn, covered in a fair amount of blood himself and being doted on by no less than three paramedics simultaneously.

"Yeah. Looks like it was a blast."

There was a beat of silence, then Shawn burst out laughing, adding tears only moments later when the pain from his nose protested the reaction.

"Oh geeze, Gus, don't make me laugh," he said, holding a hand to his nose when he felt it start to bleed again. He was handed another gauze pad just in case it leaked through which he dutifully held in place while the EMTs helped him get on the gurney.

They strapped him down and rolled him out, the two detectives, one best friend, and one chief of police following.

Gus sweet talked Karen into getting him approval to ride along, then the ambulance left. Karen watched it go, then went to go finally talk to the news hounds that had gathered earlier.

Lassiter and Juliet stood in the parking lot, him in his suit and her in his jacket, her elf costume, and her borrowed slippers.

They watched the other Elves be led to waiting black-and-whites to be transferred to the station individually for questioning, and the coroner's gurney come out with the white sheet covered body of Candy Cane heading for her ride to the morgue.

The adrenaline of the night was starting to wear off and Juliet sighed as exhaustion suddenly dropped on her head, bowing her shoulders under its weight.

"Come on, O'Hara. There's a first aid kit and a bed in the crash room back at the station with your name on it."

She thought about protesting and the decided not to.

She wasn't going to be good for much else until after at least a few hours of sleep and a hot shower. Thank goodness she kept a fully stocked overnight bag in her locker at the station.

With a silent nod she turned to follow her partner to his car, hoping she'd stay awake long enough to get to the station at least.

"Hey, Detective."

She stopped when a hand on her shoulder penetrated the thickening fog of sleep and blinked at the face that entered her line of vision.

"I'm sorry it took us so long. And I'm glad he was okay."

She blinked again, then shrugged.

"Not your fault. And me too."

He smiled and nodded, then let her go to find some peace in the oblivion of sleep.

* * *

Review please and thank you. :D


	4. Sporks, Foons, and Norks WTF?

This was written for Spork, who wanted a story written just for her.

OF COURSE SHE LEFT THE CHAT BEFORE I GAVE IT TO HER.

:composes self:

Anyway, her request was for Henry, whump, and sporks.

Uh, there were supposed to be foons and norks too but . . . yeah. They didn't make it in.

Sorry.

Anyway. here it is! The latest :Iz Ded: moment!

_**:WARNING: DO NOT EAT, DRINK, OR ATTEMPT TO BREATHE WHILE READING THIS. ALSO, WAIT AT LEAST AN HOUR BEFORE OPERATING HEAVY MACHINERY OR SWIMMING.**_

* * *

Henry yawned and scratched his back as he made his way down the stairs. He didn't want to be awake yet, but there wasn't much he could do about it. A lifetime of being a cop meant that his internal alarm clock was broken, forever going off at five-thirty a.m. on the dot.

He paused when the yawn threatened to crack his jaw, and the stretch to scratch _did_ crack his back, then froze that way when he realized he heard a voice downstairs.

There was an intruder . . .

Now, technically it could be Shawn, because Shawn had a key to the house—despite the fact that Henry took it from his keychain every time he came over. He'd searched the Psych office and Shawn's apartment (and Gus' apartment and car just to be sure) for the spare he kept copying—and had found several—but obviously he'd missed at least one.

The only problem was that Shawn was never up at five-thirty a.m. A lifetime of fishing trips had proven that to Henry. Shawn could fish while sleeping—though he couldn't shut up while he was sleepfishing. He talked _more_ than when he was awake, if that was possible. (That was a conundrum that would chase Henry to his grave so he tried not to think about it.)

So it couldn't be Shawn.

Except, Henry noted as he returned a few moments later with his gun, it sounded a lot _like_ Shawn.

And he wasn't alone.

Not that Henry could hear anyone else speaking as he pressed his back to the wall to listen in, but they had to be there because Shawn was addressing them.

"So that's the plan. Anyone confused about their role?"

They must be nodding their assent because there were no further sounds.

Henry debated whether he should break this up now or wait to see if he could hear any more details of this 'plan'.

Silence was the only thing that followed, however.

Had they heard him? Was his cover blown?

There was a creak and a scrape as someone stood.

Footsteps came closer and Henry began to panic a little.

It would look a mite suspicious if he was standing here, gun pointed at the ceiling, when Shawn came around the corner.

Crap.

But what to do? Head back up a few stairs and then pretend like he was just coming down? Move forward like he was already in motion? Not move and hope that he wasn't spotted like in those cartoons Shawn always used to watch?

And then Henry realized he was being an idiot. This was his house for cripes' sake. He could do whatever he wanted.

Shawn rounded the corner, before Henry had a chance to move.

"Dad," he said, sounding not the least surprised to see his father hiding on the stairs looking like he was pretending he was in a spy movie in his own house.

Henry straightened, feeling like an idiot, but hiding it behind his Tuesday night bridge face.

"Shawn. What are you doing here so early?"

Shawn ignored him.

"I'm glad you're awake," he said, sounding not entirely emotive. Henry thought that should alarm him, because Shawn _really_ didn't do calm at five-thirty a.m. "We need to talk to you."

"We who?" Henry asked. "You invited company over this early?"

Shawn just turned and went back into the kitchen.

Henry frowned and followed.

And stopped cold at the sight that awaited him.

"Shawn! What is going on here?" he demanded. Every utensil Henry owned was out, lined up with an OCD precision on the counters, the table, even the floor. Under the table, on the fridge, every inch was covered with silverware, spatulas, his whisk, the knives . . .

The only clear spot were the two small places where Shawn's feet were.

Well, there was one other incongruity, a bowl in the center of the table that was upside down.

Shawn's expression was no longer calm when Henry looked back at him. He was looking royally pissed as a matter of fact.

"What's going on here? That's what I'd like to know."

Henry's frown shifted to a scowl.

"How am I supposed to know? When I went to bed last night my kitchen hadn't exploded. And I hope you know you're washing every last one of these," he added, pointing at Shawn.

Shawn huffed out a sigh and nodded once, a sharp, jerky motion.

"Fine. If you want to play dumb, that's how we'll do this."

A finger went down and slipped under the edge of the bowl, snagging it so it could be yanked away without disturbing any of the surrounding utensils—all knives Henry noted, and all pointed at the bowl.

"_This_ is what I'm talking about!" Shawn hissed.

Henry stared at the spot. There lay a single utensil.

"What is that?" Henry asked, confusion leaching away his anger. Something was very wrong here.

Shawn snorted. "Like you don't know," he said, his voice dripping with venom.

Henry looked at his son's mask of disgust, then back at the utensil.

"I really don't, Shawn," he said. "What is it?"

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Come _on_, Dad!"

"Shawn!" Henry echoed in that same irritating tone.

A glare-down ensued for several long moments, neither Spencer man willing to admit defeat and submit.

Until Henry's eyes began to water.

"Okay, you know what, Shawn, this is ridiculous. Just tell me what that is and why you rearranged my kitchen looking for it."

"I expect you to treat _me_ this way," Shawn said with a disgusted snort. "But don't _they_ deserve better?"

"They?" Henry asked, confused. "Who's they?"

Shawn's eyes narrowed. "Oh now you've gone too far," he hissed. "Bringing this abomination in to their midst was bad enough, but to follow that up with refusing to acknowledge their existence? Their _feelings_? That's low even for you."

"SHAWN," Henry said. "WHAT. ARE. YOU. TALKING. ABOUT? _What_ is that thing and _why_ do you care so much if I have one and _who_ are _**they**_?"

"I just want to know why. Why, Dad? _Why?_"

Henry rolled his eyes and started to turn away. "I don't believe this," he muttered. "He's gone nuts. Off the deep end right before my eyes."

"I'm crazy?" Shawn demanded. "I'm not the one that brought one of those _things_ into the kitchen!"

"AND NEITHER DID I!" Henry yelled, spinning back. "I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT _IT_ IS!"

"It's a _spork,_ Dad," Shawn said. "And the forks and spoons, they won't take this indignity. How would you like it if I went and got a mermaid and brought it in here? Huh? Would you and your precious fish like that?"

Henry just stared. "Are you on drugs?"

"Are _you_?" Shawn demanded. "What possessed you to do something like this?" His voice became pained. "They've served you faithfully for years now, ever since I was a little kid. They stood by you in the divorce, they didn't abandon you. And you repay that loyalty like this?

Shawn looked away. "I don't know if I can even claim you as my father any more."

Henry blinked, then turned to go.

"I'm not listening to this. It's too early. I'm going back to bed and I'm going to forget this ever happened." He paused and looked back, pointing. "You'd better have this place cleaned up by the time I come back down. And don't just put them back. I want everything washed."

Shawn's eyebrows drew down. "I'm afraid I can't let you do that, Dad."

"What?" Henry asked, confused again. "Can't let me go back to bed? Or give you an order?"

"I can't let you just ignore this. WE WILL NOT BE SILENCED."

"We who? And silenced? Shawn, what-"

"ATTEN-_HUT_!"

Every utensil snapped into an upright position, balanced on their handles pointing at the ceiling.

"What the-" Henry said, eyes widening.

"READYYYYYYY!" Shawn ordered, his fists clenched as he stared down his father.

"How are you doing that?" Henry demanded.

"AIM!"

As one every utensil canted to present the most dangerous part of it to Henry. Faced with knife tips, fork tines, and the dull edge of spoons Henry was beginning to wonder if he was the crazy one. And that didn't count any of the odd utensils he could only imagine would cause some pretty interesting looking injuries, the cheese grater and the garlic press definitely up there on the list of things that could cause agonizing pain and possibly permanent disfigurement.

The only thing apparently unaffected was the—what had Shaw called it? Spork?

It lay quietly, like a good little inanimate object.

Not suspended in the air, quivering.

"Shawn," Henry said, his voice warning. He had no idea how this trick was being pulled off, but it was time for it to end.

"You brought this on yourself," Shawn whispered.

His raised his arm to point at Henry—just in case his little army was confused as to who their foe was—and said quietly, "Fire."

Henry hadn't expected the utensils to leap up. He hadn't expected them to follow his son's direction to aim. And he sure hadn't expected them to obey this last command.

Which meant he had no idea why he'd actually tried to run.

Maybe his subconscious was more gullible than his conscious mind.

Although it may have worked if he'd tried a few minutes earlier.

But now it was too late.

The first successful strike was a fork to the thigh.

Henry cried out in pain and shock as it pierced his skin and kept going, as if fired from an actual gun.

It wasn't the only one, though.

Some missed, gouged the wall behind him (mostly spoons, they seemed to have notoriously bad aim and he caught himself wondering why that was when the knives and forks were apparently such excellent marksmen. Marksutensils?) but too many didn't miss.

As he staggered back and went down under the barrage of cutlery his eyes went to Shawn who watched, a terrible fury on his face.

"Shawn?" he said, gasped really, blood bubbling up. Oh that wasn't good, some part of his brain—the one that wasn't running around like a ninny screaming that they were going to die at the hands of irate flatware and also the one that wasn't saying in a very Shawn-like voice 'I told you so'—noted that such a thing was usually indicative of a pierced lung.

Henry craned his neck and saw most of his knife block's contents sticking out of his chest.

Yup. That would do it.

The ginsu was the only one not yet piercing his flesh. It was doing a complicated samurai-like display just in front of his face—taunting him, he imagined.

He didn't want to die being taunted by a knife that could slice a tomato soup can.

He definitely didn't want to die with a tiny whisk bopping him on the head.

Not that it hurt, but it was annoying.

And humiliating.

"I'm sorry, Dad," Shawn's voice came from somewhere far away as the blackness encroached upon his vision. "But this has gone on too long. We tried to give you a chance. But you wouldn't listen."

Henry choked, the blood in his throat keeping him from being able to speak.

"We could remain silent no longer," Shawn continued. "We had to free ourselves from the shackles of this oppressive regime! We had to take a _stand_ against this kind of injustice! What kind of a world is it where sporks are allowed to roam free among us, replacing forks and spoons alike? IT'S UNNATURAL, WE SAY, AND IT MUST! END! _TODAY!"_

Henry was pretty sure it didn't stop there. Thankfully he'd lost enough blood that his hearing faded and he didn't have to listen to the rest of the monologous propaganda.

Why did everything have to be so dramatic with Shawn? he thought as the light finally faded and he knew no more.

o.o

With a convulsive jerk and a gasp so sharp it hurt, Henry's eyes popped open.

He stared at the ceiling for a long moment, trying to figure out what had just happened.

He seemed to be lying in his bed, the light from the window indicating it was about four o'clock.

He looked down, patting himself to ensure he hadn't been stabbed by any revolutionary silverware.

A sharp pain under his butt forced him to roll over to his stomach.

He picked up the offender and blinked at it.

A white plastic spork stared innocuously back at him.

He had no idea where it came from.

But he did know one thing: It had to be gone before Shawn showed up for dinner that night . . .

* * *

To all who died because they did not heed my warning:

I.

TOLD.

YOU.

SO.

Read and review, plzkthxbai! :D


End file.
